Staring
by myloveimfaithfullyyours
Summary: First Human Target Fic and first fic in awhile now. Just Chance's musings on his boss lady. I've come to accept Ilsa and Chance, as long as the dysfunction continues, and the action on the show continues. Please Read and REVIEW! one-shot. Chance/Ilsa


a/n: I've had some plot bunnies recently, but I just found some time to write! This is my first Human Target fic, so I'm still learning how to write their voices in character and what not. After a few episodes, I've grudgingly accepted Ilsa, and recently I've really warmed up to this idea of Chance and Ilsa seeing as he kind of likes to know he's in conrol all the time no matter how chaotic the situation…but Ilsa, she's a different story. I like the power struggle, I guess.

Anyways, this piece takes place through Chance's perspective. I'm a little rusty, but hope you all enjoy! Reviews are awesome!

Staring

I'm very aware that I'm staring.

As aware as I am, I can't seem to stop.

I'm staring at her while she types away, concentrating hard on each and every word choice. She bites her lower-lip every once in awhile, but never gives up.

She calls me into her office. She calls me, "Mr. Chance." It's too formal for my liking; too formal for the partnership I feel like we have. She's not my boss, she's my partner, and sometimes she's my friend.

She opens her mouth to say something to me, but I can't hear it. My ears are picking up something else; suddenly I'm very aware of everything else around me. The water's dripping from the sink, it has stopped raining, and the clock in the conference room is ticking slower than usual because the batteries need to be replaced. My instinct says to duck.

In an instant, I'm on the ground pinning Ilsa under me. A gun shot shatters the glass, and then all is quiet again. I look around, but the shooter is gone. I'm no longer aware of what is going on around me. I remember, suddenly, that I'm still crushing Ilsa, but she makes no effort to get me off of her.

On top of her expensive perfume, she smells of gunshot residue – a result of being around the team all the time. I can hear her heart beating, the pace getting slower as she takes deeper breaths trying to calm herself. In her flustered state where her cheeks are all red and her hair is a little messier than usual, I can't help but to just fixate on her.

She doesn't make any snide remarks. I can almost see her make a mental note to herself to call the repairman to get the window fixed.

"You okay?" I finally find my voice.

"Having a little trouble breathing, but yeah, I'm okay."

"Aren't you going to ask how I am?"

She rolls her eyes. "Are you, Mr. Chance, alright?"

"I'm excellent. Thanks for asking."

She's quiet again. She's breathing evenly, her chest heaving up and down, her eyes concentrating hard at something on the ceiling. I roll off of her slightly, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's the one to break the silence. "Would you call this a partnership, Mr. Chance?"

"Sure." I replied searching the ceiling for the exact spot she was staring at.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

"Sounds good to me…partner."

She scrunches her face a little, "that makes us sound like, what do you call them…oh, cowboys…"

"It's a little too much." I agree, and she laughs. A sense of satisfaction washed over me; the satisfaction of making her happy, even if it was just for a moment. I averted my gaze from the ceiling and noticed that she had turned to look straight into my eyes; her dark ones searching mine for my deepest, darkest, secrets.

For a moment, she simply smiles at me like she's found the embarrassing secret that I'd been hiding from her.

I can't help but to smile back.

"We should…get off the ground." I say.

"We should…" she trails off, agreeing.

Neither of us moves. I can hear her breathing, considering for a moment whether or not she wants to get up. "Ilsa the floor's cold and dirty we really should…" My eyes flicker to her lips which curve upward into a small smile. I gulp… "We should, uh, get…up."

She nods in agreement once more, but once again neither of us moves, instead she inches just a little bit closer. My mind stops, my thoughts completely clouded in fog like the streets of San Francisco.

In the heat of the moment, I inch even closer to her, inhaling the scent of Prada and gun residue. Finally close my eyes and stop staring.


End file.
